Torn Eyes
by meredev
Summary: Clove's eyes within pivotal moments of Cato and Clove's relationship.


The last thing Cato can remember are Clove's eyes. A combination of green and gold, they had a way of cutting through the armor he put up and slashing into his soul. His life didn't really start until he lost himself in them for the first time while holding her chin in his right hand. "Keep your head up," Cato had said. And Clove never failed to do just that. She was the ultimate mixture of confidence, elegance, and brutality, maneuvering her way throughout whatever she pleased. On a cloudy, weak night, the kind where the stars still shone, she assured Cato the only thing to stay the same would be the fact that her heart remained in his possession.

Not only were those eyes a mark of a new beginning and end of a life, they darted throughout the middle as well.

The first time in three years she had cried on an early April morning and Cato had never witnessed such vulnerability reflected in the ocean he found within her. He held Clove in his scarred arms and watched as her eyelids fluttered down and she finally surrendered to sleep, which would bring another world of war within nightmares, despite the light from the new day's sun.

The first time they gave themselves up to each other, Cato had scraped his teeth against her collarbone and drew blood. Murmuring profanities, he gazed into Clove's eyes, which silently promised that it was okay, and they were the last things he saw before she drug him into her for one of what seemed like of an infinity of kisses.

The night Cato's sister had passed away and he broke so many things that the skin around his knuckles split and the only thing that stopped him from letting himself bleed out was Clove's thumbs running on his cheeks, staring into his tears.

When she had come into the training center with a broken wrist and broken eyes that told more than enough to Cato about the broken house she came from. He didn't want to refer to it as a home, seeing as that would allude to some sense of love and warmth, something Clove never seemed to experience within the neighborhood of District 2.

Then Cato had lost his mother, leaving him and his father to fend for themselves, and he feared losing ever woman he had ever felt anything for until Clove stared into him and her strength radiated through every sense he never knew he had, positive she wasn't going anywhere.

Clove's brother being taken hostage by peacekeepers direct from the president for defying the government, leaving no shield between her father and her. Shaking and wrestling away from Cato, screaming about not being able to trust anyone until he had kissed the tears away, hearing her breathe regularly, and the look on her face controlled by the way she tilted her head and the way her eyes glowed showed her utmost and final trust had been placed in Cato.

When Cato laid with her in his bed throughout a grey and rainy evening, attempting to braid her hair but it just resulted in a huge knot. He basked in the music of her laugh. The gold and green lit up the room with joy that could never be held in anything but young hearts forced to mature too early.

How Cato gave Clove everything she never had, telling her children's stories his late mother had repeated night after night and the emerald found its way to dominance, shining nothing but gratitude from her irises.

Their first big fight over something neither could remember a week later and the morning after. Clove's venomous glance that warned Cato to stay far away until passion won over anger, or anger had contributed to passion, and she slammed him against a wall and kissed him until he couldn't feel his lips with a devious glare that sent shivers into everything he was.

How Clove's father showed up at the training center. Clove was strong, but never strong enough to stand up to her father or escape his grasp, and for once, she had someone to do it for her. Cato had beaten him unconscious and Clove's flickering glance expressed the fear within her, unsure of everything.

The reaping day, when Clove's name had been called and no one volunteered like was planned. She had stomped up onto the stage but immediately found Cato's eyes and pleaded silently with him not to do what she knew was inevitable. He defied her wordless begging and shoved the boy whose name was called far behind him, volunteering in one swift chain of interactions and standing beside her as quickly as he could. "You're NOT going to die just to protect ME," Clove had screamed on the train to the Capitol. Her eyes finished the statement with a flash of insecurity. "I'm not worth that," she confirmed quietly. "Well, I'm sure as hell not going to kill you and it's too late to go back now," Cato had argued back. "Shit," Clove whispered. "Shit, shit, shit, shit." And with that, she had turned her back with one last glance of fear in Cato's direction, requesting him to stay away from her, and returned to her room.

Opening ceremonies, how District 12 had blared through with fire tracing their bodies. Clove's look towards them that expressed the killer's heart she always found solace in, which would eventually tumble down later that night. "It's not fair. Why do THEY get to be the lovers?" she demanded, tugging at her messy hair. Cato had pulled her in and calmed her with a chorus of shushes and restored the light in her eyes with a series of kisses that eventually led to bruises and a cream colored dress in shreds next to the bed.

Training, where the experienced two gave each other traces of smiles and idle touches, none of which could compare to the smirks their eyes gave off. Flooding Cato with renewed viciousness, one was never quite as cruel without the other around.

Interviews, where Clove's knowing, tiny nods and blinking reassured Cato's confidence and ultimately benefiting them.

The morning of the Games, immediately finding each other on their platforms and sharing game plans with minuscule movements. When the District 12 boy joined with them and Clove shook her head and said to give caution to it, expressing what seemed like endless possibilities of letting him in the pack.

Waking up the next day, seeming like the only two souls left roaming the earth. "Do you feel bad?" Clove had inquired quietly. "No," Cato replied without hesitation, turning his head to look at her. She didn't speak back, but her eyes agreed with him.

The mornings and afternoons and nights creeped along, getting closer to going home, something Clove dreaded. She didn't want to go home if it meant Cato dying and although she never told anyone, not even Cato himself, he was the only one she loved. She tried to push him away in the arena, but when the tracker jackers attacked, she was transported into a cruel world without him in a mix of hallucinations and confusion. It would happen before she got out of this arena, living without him, but she didn't want to advance it, and allowed herself to sleep on his arm the night they had returned to normal.

Killing and blood seemed to go hand in hand. Cato was inching to insanity. Snapping the boy who had set up the land mine's neck and screaming. But once the gamemakers took the sun down, Cato retreated. "She blew up everything," Cato huffed. "I know." "I need to kill her, I NEED to," he continued. Clove interjected. "No. I want to. I will." Cato stayed silent. "I never had a real friend who was a girl, so I might as well have an adversary. Let me take care of her. Please." Cato though over it for a second and nodded, meeting her look of plotting the demise of the Girl on Fire. The District 11 girl was dead and neither felt anything until the announcement came that they could be the victors and for the first time since Cato had known Clove, her eyes glowed with hope.

It all sped up after that point. Hunting down anything. Food, weapons, people. There would be a feast for something they desperately needed, which would be food. "Food at a feast that's not really a feast," Clove snorted. "Ironic," Cato played along. "Well, we can't exactly eat people," Clove replied. "I guess not," Cato trailed off. The game plan was formed. Clove with a plethora of knives would grab the bag and if it was possible, kill off as many people as time allowed, then run towards the field where Cato would be hiding to take down Thresh. Morning struck, and Cato lurked around the area, anticipating the battle and cannons to come. Clove watched the redhead dart from inside the cornucopia and grab whatever she needed and sprint off. Clever. Then came the District 12 girl, and Clove leaped into action. Throwing a knife and hitting above her eyebrow, she smirked and took her down, pinning her to the ground with her knees. Taunting her for stealing away the limelight District 2 was supposed to have. Holding back from cutting too soon, wanting to savor the euphoria that came with it. Holding the little girl - Rue's? - death over her, slicing her deeper than any knife could until she was lifted off of the ground. Thresh. He was screaming at her about his district partner, but she couldn't focus. If Thresh had made it past Cato, then where could he be? She screamed for him and something large in her peripheral vision slammed into her temple over and over. Every time she thought the pain couldn't increase, it did, until she slammed for a final time into the ground and Cato was finally by her side. He was alive. He was alive. How? Where was Thresh hiding? Nothing made sense and she was losing her sense with everything. "Please, Clove, please," Cato grasped her hand so tightly she could actually feel it. "Stay with me, stay. Clove, stay. Clove, you're okay." Clove had never seen the look of innocence he had on his face before. Twisted through the spots and colors, she finally find the words she was leaving with. "I," she choked out, "I-I can't." A tear ran down Cato's cheek and the blueness of his eyes was the last thing she saw before the raspy "I love you" Clove wanted to say could escape. He closed her eyelids before he sat and held her until the hovercraft came.

Cato didn't sleep from then on, but hunted down Thresh, Clove's lost life as motivation for revenge. He entertained himself with thoughts of cutting his throat and banging him into a tree until he bled out and his skull was too deformed to resemble that of a human's. When Cato finally passed out after God knows how long, he saw her eyes closing over and over again, leaving him. He finally found Thresh and mutiliated him into what looked like a meal of wolves. He didn't feel fulfilled, though. He didn't feel like he had done his work and Cato sure as hell didn't feel any better.

There were three tributes left and in a blur, the water sources dried up and he trekked back up to the lake. He heard a growl behind him and turned to stab his spear through a huge mutt's throat. But there were more and he took off into a sprint. Finding the District 12 tributes at the cornucopia, he climbed up, a bloody mess from where he had lost against the dogs.

After a struggle, Cato gave up. Nothing was worth living for anymore. He let the girl shoot his hand and fell to hours and hours of torture as the mutts tore away at the body armor his sponsors granted him. Great sponsors, too bad they couldn't save Clove.

On the final hour, he knew he was done. The mutts finally released him and his lips formed the word "Please" with the only bits of will he had left.

An arrow flew towards him at the slowest speed possible and he looked to his left, greeted by a mutt's face. Eyes stared back at him, and he lost his life staring at Clove one final time, until he was finally transported to a blackness that nothing could invade.

There was no more blood lust, no more hatred, and nothing, absolutely nothing, except occasional flashes of a golden and green tint.


End file.
